Lilac Nightmares
by Lady Sandromeda Snupin
Summary: There needs to be more stories about Isabella! After 10 years of working for George and getting nothing but pain, Isabella leaves Paris to start over fresh. But George created Isabella and if he dosent love her, who is she now?
1. Chapter 1

As Isabella closed the heavy wooden door shut on the end of a hectic, stressful day, she kicked off her simple work heels and slid down the hard surface until she was slumped on the floor of her apartment in Paris.

Despite having been based here for ten years, work here was still so different to the 'casual' work that they did in Parakiss. Heavens, to even believe that they had complained about deadlines before, was atrocious.

She sighed and ran her manicured hand through her hair. The day had started off on a wrong note with the power going off in the night and her alarm clock resetting itself. That started off a whole chain of events that completely ruined her entire day. She missed her usual bus and had to be quite rude to a couple of people in order to get a taxi to the work complex. She burst through the doors five minutes late, which simply didn't happen in this industry unless, of course, you owned the industry. As punishment she was given coffee duty and had to find a way to juggle six cups of the hot liquid back to their respective desks, only to get back to her own and realise her neck scarf was in her cup, soaking up her wake up latte. After spending the next five minutes in the bathroom, trying to get the scarf back to normal and failing, she plunked herself in a rather unladylike way into her wheelie chair, getting glares from everyone as the wheels squeaked loudly in protest. She was so very tempted to thunk her head onto the desk in defeat but decided she didn't really want a headache on top of everything else.

Despite her wishes she ended up with one anyway. She had been trying to replace some of the patterns she had been browsing through to help her with an upcoming project on a high shelf. The shelf must have been a little too high for her as the box came tumbling down on top of her head, the corner hitting her right on target. Papers and bits of material went everywhere and, as she sat on the floor surrounded by chaos, she moaned, rubbing her forehead and wondering what she had done to deserve this.

Isabella turned on the lights, realising how dark it had gotten whilst she rested on the floor. She slumped her way to the bathroom to clean up before having a light meal and going to bed early. As she ran herself a bath filled with lavender scented bubbles she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over her sink. She looked a state, not just because she had to get ready in a hurry but because the hard day had taken a toll on her. Nearly all of her long hair had come out of the quick bun she had put it in this morning. Her frilly white shirt had come half untucked from her long gypsy skirt (lilac of course) and what little make up she had managed to put on this morning had smudged. She sighed as she started to step out of her clothes. Her morning had been hard enough without George making her afternoon a living hell.

She had been working really hard for the past week trying to bring one of George's designs to life. It was a complex piece with a lot of beadwork and accessories to match. She had unveiled her creation to George, only for him to eye it off like it was… well, Isabella didn't know. All she knew was that he wasn't happy.

"This isn't the design I gave you." George stated, stalking around the dress clad mannequin like a hawk, plucking at the cloth with his fingertips as if it were disgusting.

"What are you talking about George? I have the design for this piece right here." Isabella said calmly. He often got side tracked, but deep down she felt a sense of hurt that her efforts hadn't been congratulated. She handed over the paper and waited, finding it hard to be patient with George clicking his tongue as he was.

"No no, this fabric is nothing like the designs, it's far too drab." He pointed to the paper and then looked at Isabella like this should have been totally obvious.

"It is like the design, George. We ended up choosing this fabric; it had more stretch and is more practical than your original choice"

"Well then, why are there so many beads- I would never have such a _plain_ dress covered in such precious things." There was a stab of emotional pain in her chest. Plain? That was a straight-out insult.

"You told me it had to have a feature, something to make up for its casual appearance. I assure you George; I have followed every step precisely. This is the dress you wanted."

"Well I don't want it anymore. This is not me. Put it in a box and start over. I'll send you something else to work on, something _easier_ for you." George sniffed, turned on his heel and flourished out of the door, leaving Isabella in a state of near misery. She had worked _so_ hard to finish it on time and to make it perfect. She had been quite proud of herself. _Had _been. Now she just felt pathetic and useless. It was like George didn't even realise who he was talking to. For sure, this wasn't the first time that this had happened, but it was usually only ever a couple of things out of place or to be improved. A hem change or an extra bow. Over the ten years that she had been working for George in France, it had gradually gotten a lot worse. Isabella thought that maybe it was her. She hadn't been hanging out with him much lately, not for lack of trying. She made constant efforts to spend time with him but he refused her company, saying that he was busy. Isabella knew that he was out with 1-3 girls at a time and, if he wasn't with them, he was trying to make his way up the social ladder. It hurt the most when he did finally agree, but ended up calling her mobile half an hour late of the agreed meeting time, saying 'change of plans, something came up'. She always found it so hard not to cry with everyone in the restaurant watching her, but most of the time she couldnt help it. She simply wasn't on his wavelength anymore.

Thinking back on it now brought those tears back to her eyes. She sobbed, sinking lower into the hot, soapy water. She had spent her whole life devoted to George, only to find after years of trying to deny it; the he neither wanted nor needed her.

She sobbed harder, choking on her tears. She had to force herself to get herself clean and to carry on with the night's routine. As she slipped into one of her nighties, she bypassed the kitchen (she felt too ill to eat) and went straight to bed.

The only thing that helped her to sleep that night was knowing what she had to do tomorrow. She simply couldn't avoid this any longer. Her passion was George, but George had let her down. Even though she loved fashion and sewing, it wasn't worth _this_. In the morning she would hand in her resignation and then make arrangements to leave Paris…and George.


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken a lot of effort for Isabella to work up the courage to get out of bed that morning. The fear of what her boss and George would do when she told them that she was leaving, was beyond what she could handle. Breakfast was definitely out of the question.

She had thought it through many times and had finally settled on a plan. She _had_ considered working the whole day before approaching her boss, but the idea of being surrounded by people (and George) in her current state of mind was not a good choice. She could imagine all of the hurtful things that they were all undoubtedly thinking about her. And George…she needed to do this quickly, like pulling off a Band-Aid. She repeated this to herself many times as she approached the reception desk that the customers usually used. The lady was busy typing on an expensive looking computer and, usually, Isabella wasn't one to interrupt someone's hard work. She _should_ probably come back later…Band-Aid! Giving into the persistent voice in her head, she gave a slight cough, hoping that she wouldn't have to do anything more to get her attention.

Luck was on her side, thank god, and the receptionist looked up from her work and put on a big smile.

"Oh! It's you Isabella. It's odd to see you down this side of the building. What can I do for you?" she leaned forward, a look of pure curiosity filling her eyes. Lady boys weren't _that_ uncommon here but, even so, girls like this one seemed to find her intriguing. Not technically for her personality, more for what was (or wasn't) under her petticoat.

"I was wondering if I could have a word with the boss please," she crossed her fingers, hoping that there would be an appointment now and that she wouldn't have to wait.

"Let's have a look," she returned to the computer and, after a couple of clicks, she said,

"There was a cancelation this morning; you can see him in five minutes. I'll let him know you're here."

Isabella nodded and paced slowly around the reception hall. She had considered lying about her circumstances, but she didn't want to burn her bridges. A little white lie might be alright but it still made her shiver inside. What if he saw through it? It's not like she could tell him the truth; that she wasn't getting on with George and not fitting in with everyone else. She'd end up getting a 'put up with it princess', and be told to get back to work. Usually you also needed to give some notice before leaving…like 2 weeks beforehand. But Isabella couldn't wait that long, this had to be done now.

"Go on in sweetie," she gestured to a door off of the main hall. Isabella cringed. Sweetie? What was she, a child? She stared at the door for a moment, working up her courage, before letting herself in.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooo

Half an hour later she emerged feeling drained, but happy that this phase in her life was nearly at a close. Her boss had been more than understanding as she told him a little white lie about wanting to leave to peruse her true self, mentioning titbits like surgery and the like to give it seriousness. Of course, she was not getting surgery, even though she had thought about it. She didn't think that she was ready to take that step just yet and besides, despite what she may look like, she knew that she was a pure woman and surgery wouldn't change that fact. Her boss (being the fatherly sort) had been more than helpful and had actually offered to pay for some of the expenses, in the hopes that she would return to work a new woman. She politely declined.

"Oh no, I simply couldn't accept, though I do appreciate your generosity, I just…" she sighed for dramatic effect, "I need to start fresh, I do hope that you can understand?"

"Heavens yes, m'dear," he grasped her hands in his, tears glistening in his eyes. "I wish you all the best for your new life, and if you ever need any assistance, please don't hesitate to call me."

Her heart melted and she couldn't help herself from hugging him. She wished that _her_ father had understood and was more like him; it hurt to have to lie to such a sweet man.

He told her that as soon as she had packed her things, she could go; he would send her her pay in the mail, tomorrow.

As she walked to her desk and started loading up her stuff into a cardboard box that was kept in the storeroom for events such as this, she could feel eyes setting fire to her skin. Why couldn't they just get on with their work and ignore her like they usually did? She worked quickly, keen on getting away from the onlookers but, of course, someone had to be a smart ass and comment on her leaving.

"Let me guess, you're pregnant," one of the men at a nearby table joked.

"Don't be stupid!" Another joined the fun. "I bet she slept with the boss' daughter and got _her_ pregnant," he laughed.

She wasn't one to get angry or hold grudges-usually. But things were a little different now. "God, what are you, five? Perhaps I simply decided that I don't want to work with a bunch of brainless assholes for the rest of my life," she put the last accessory from her desk (a pink bobble head cat that was covered with bows, which greatly resembled and reminded her of Miwako) into the box with a great sense of finality and left the room with it before they had time to think of a comeback.

Once out of the office and in the hallway, she let her shoulders drop, the tension slowly leaving her body. She was about to leave the building when she remembered that she had forgotten to pack one last thing.

George had made her a dress a few years ago; it was one of her favourites, not just because George had made it but because it suited her figure and the colour brought out her eyes. She had brought the dress in for inspiration on an upcoming design, but there was no way that she could leave it behind, despite how much she wished to avoid George right now. She could only hope that he was busy elsewhere doing god knows what.

Peeking her head around the door, everything seemed quiet and undisturbed. George must not have even 'opened shop' that morning. On closer look she could see her dress on a rack on the far side of the room. There was no one around so she stashed her box of belongings behind the door and crept inside to retrieve her gown. She had just about made it across the room when she heard voices coming from the walk in closet. Fear made her freeze, for George was sure to walk around the corner at any second. But no one came out, the voices seemed to be deep in conversation, and were so loud that she couldn't help but overhear them.

"God, I can't believe you still let that tranny work for you! You know that I understand you _so_ much better," the whiney voice of one of George's many girlfriends could be heard as clear as day from where she stood. Ever though she knew she should leave, she wanted, no, needed to hear what George would say in response. She could only pray that it was in her defence.

"I know. I was going to round off the year before letting her go but nowadays I just find her so…wishy washy. I mean, if she wanted to be a _real _woman so bad, she could have had the op already, it's not like she can't afford it. I think she doesn't even know _what_ she wants- I can't stand that."

Right now, Isabella _did_ know what she wanted, and that was to get the hell away from here. Away from George and the hurt he was causing her.

As she stepped out of the door, she hugged her recused dress close, tempted to cry but pride refusing to let her. 'You wanted proof Isabella, now you've got it. Now it's time to forget'

She carefully folded her dress and placed it in the box before making her way to the car park to call for a taxi. If she had to wait for one, she would rather not do it in here.

It was a lonely affair, standing on the hard pavement, cardboard box in hand…waiting. Soon enough the taxi came and took her home. As she paid the man, she tried to avoid his gaze. Once he had spotted the cardboard box, pity had filled his eyes…and she hated pity.


End file.
